The thin layer of smoke veiling the sights, the smells, the sounds; the animals, the buzz, the sheer thrum of people. All of this and more was a long familiar sight as the jester undulated from his perch atop the least rickety stall that he had found that morning, jumping down to the newly compacted earth to the half-hearted outrage from the proprietor below. A new carnivale, in a new location, and yet everything still managed to retain that same hazy, lazy, somewhat crazy air, that drew in the local citizens by the bucketful; the original landscape obscured by the sprawling bulk of the mismatched patchwork of tents and stalls. Limoncello brushed a lock of garish hair from his half-lidded yellow eyes as he surveyed the new set-up. So similar, and yet superficially different, the arrangements of the little alleyways between shops and performers. Familiar faces passed by intermingled with the broad grins of their clientele. He nodded back at all he recognised, but made no move to interact beyond this greeting.
He continued on in this manner until he had reached the central area, where a number of acrobats already danced and gambled in preparation for their coming shows. The tall jester licked his lips, the sight of a patron gulping down a cool beverage quickly reminding him that he had yet to eat or drink. Spying a generic purveyor of foodstuffs across the way, he had barely begun to stride out in that direction when he felt an almighty tug on his habitually twitching tail. Turning lithely, pasting a smile over what was undoubtedly a surprised grimace, he found himself looking into the eyes of seven or so young pockettu children, who were eying him expectantly. When their staring continued, he allowed them a raise of the brow, before purring,
“And what can I do for you fine young ladies and gentlemen today?”
They looked less than impressed, the tallest of them soon piping up, hands on hips,
“Go on, do something funny! That’s what you’re for, isn’t it?”
It was true, at least, somewhat. Life as a jester had a certain quota of entertainment that you were expected to fill. But having it intrude onto your rare day off was something that all but the most rabid harlequin didn’t appreciate. And this, thank Venezia, was his day of rest, when foolishness and trickery could be laid aside, or at least, professionally so. However, it was very easy to be called back onto the job, which was exactly why he'd be lounging atop a splintery wooden roof for the former part of the morning.This wasn’t the first time that this had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Putting on his best apologetic grin, the jester waved the children pver to the left with a flap of his elegant black nailed hands,
“If you’re looking for a laugh, why don’t you try-“ He gazed around quickly, desperately scrying for a glimpse of the familiar swish of a tail, clash of carnival coloration “-that lovely lady, over there?”
At the last moment he spied a lone jester girl, not so very far from where he stood. He felt a little bad at offloading the sticky ragamuffins onto her, but, hey. This was show business.
(In which Cello, in a desperate bid for snow cones, attempts to skip work and set up Bobbie)
